It All Goes Back
by EagleDaydream
Summary: A brief look into Terry Boot's opinions. There's a lack of Terry fics out there, and I had to post mine up. R&R would be lovely, as always. So, read on and find out what all goes back.


It All Goes Back  
  
Disclaimer: I own no one you recognize. Alexander Poole may be a different story, but feel free to use the character in your story, if you want. Everyone you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. Wait, you did recognize Terry Boot, right? ^.-  
  
[A/N: Just a brief look into Terry Boot's thoughts. I think poor Terry here needs more attention than he has; look at that lack of fics about him! Sniffsniff. *Eagle fluffs Terry.* *Terry grumbles.* Oh, and just in case you wanted to know a bit of behind-the fic fun, I here's the playlist I put together while making the fic. Joy. --  
  
{ Soundtrack --  
  
'Just Like a Pill' by Pink  
  
'Unwanted' by Avril Lavigne  
  
'Cleaning Out My Closet' by Eminem  
  
'No One' by Cold  
  
'Boys of Summer' by Codeseven } ].  
  
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Terry Boot.  
  
Who would that be? Ah, a question often asked. People often forget the name; it's just another out of countless others. Why, I am, in fact, Terry Boot. I was sorted into the Ravenclaw house at Hogwarts, during Harry Potter's first year. Oh, yes, that often clears things up, because almost every person in the magical community from the Hawaiian Islands to Japan, from the far North Pole to the equally far South Pole-- seems to know who Harry Potter is.  
  
Harry Potter is the son of Lily and James Potter; he was the one who stumped Voldemort. One unfortunate night, the Dark Wizard, Voldemort, came a-knocking at the home of these Potters. The door was blasted open, and in came Voldemort, clad in evil. He went for James Potter, and killed him with the Killing Curse. Lily, as anyone can guess, was most likely in shock, and ran up to protect her small son. She kept him close to her, guarding the poor child with her life. The merciless Voldemort, however, killed Lily Potter, but her death was not in vain. The last Potter living in that household was Harry Potter. Of course, Voldemort wasn't the one to just leave the child alive; that wasn't his nature. He cornered in, and cast the Killing Curse on Harry Potter. But something happened. Harry did not die that night, like his parents did. No, Harry Potter stumped Lord Voldemort, and a mark of the curse was what he sported upon his forehead. It was love that protected Harry from his death that night, and he has his mother to thank for that. That is Harry Potter's story.  
  
It sounds like quite a dramatic story, now doesn't it? It was, and such a story is very rare. I'm not saying that I would prefer that past. No, I actually can't imagine life without my parents. It must be hell for Harry. But for some reason, I don't consider Harry Potter special. He didn't do anything in defense of himself, in the first place. It was a miracle that he survived, but that wasn't Harry Potter's miracle. It was Lily Potter's miracle. If Lily hadn't died to save Harry, he would be another dead corpse on the floor of the Potter household.  
  
Does he sound so special now?  
  
Yes, I believe you could say that I'm a tinge jealous of the Potter boy. He gets all the attention when he really didn't do anything. He survived. But I survived, too. I survive every day; so does everyone else who is living. I'm not sure about ghosts, though. They're dead, so I suppose they can't really survive, but rather just exist. Sometimes I wonder what's easier. Without really thinking about it, I'd say that existing would be easier. The ghosts don't need to eat, drink, breathe, sleep, or any normal human things. They can even walk through walls. Now, that must be entertaining. However, it seems so much more fulfilling to survive. So, you know, if I got to thinking about it, I'd actually choose surviving. My point is that Harry Potter just survived. It's something every living does every day. Sure, he survived under special circumstances, but I don't think it's any different than surviving with artificial organs. Harry Potter got recognition for surviving; why don't I get eternal fame for surviving another day?  
  
It's not my dream to be famous, but it's just to be somehow regarded, without any relevance to Harry Potter.  
  
"Oh, you're in Harry Potter's year!"  
  
"You go to Harry Potter's school!"  
  
I hear those comments all too often. And, to tell the truth, I really don't give a flying fuck about Harry Potter. I don't bid any well-wishings for him to burn in hell or the like-- if there is a hell, that is. He always manages to make himself relevant in my life, and I don't like that.  
  
But that's enough about Harry Potter. I'm not about Harry Potter, and I don't ever intend to be. This is about me. I'm Terry Boot.  
  
**********  
  
"Boot, Terry!" Professor McGonagall called.  
  
I was shaking a tiny bit, but I had coached myself into thinking positively back on the Hogwarts Express. I tried my best to appear confident as I slowly approached the stool of the Sorting Hat, but inside, I knew that I wasn't. I turned on my heel, and quickly sat upon the stool. Professor McGonagall put the hat on my head, ruffling my dirty-blonde hair a bit, but then fitting snugly.  
  
[A/N: The Sorting Hat's comments are in --s, and Terry's thoughts are in ''s.]  
  
-Hello, Mr. Boot.-  
  
'Hello. So, how does this thing work?'  
  
-My, my, aren't we curious. Quite a sharp mind, hm.-  
  
'Come on, I don't want to sit here all day.'  
  
-Ah-hah.-  
  
'What're you ah-hah-ing at?'  
  
-A sharp mind, fit for Ravenclaw, and dry wit, fit for Slytherin.-  
  
'My, my, aren't we in a predicament?'  
  
-Again, you have the intellect for Ravenclaw, and the attitude for Slytherin. If there were a house combining the two, you'd be in it.-  
  
'Well, there isn't. What would it be, anyway? Slythenclaw? Ravindor?'  
  
-Very funny.-  
  
'Thank you. Also, are you saying that I'm.. a genius, and I'm evil? As in, evil genius?'  
  
-That's being a bit arrogant, now isn't it?-  
  
'Excuse me for not having the right to boast like the famous Harry Potter.'  
  
-No offense to you, lad.-  
  
'All right, then, so where are you putting me?'  
  
-Why don't you tell me?-  
  
'Isn't that your job?'  
  
-Yes, but--  
  
'Oh, I wouldn't want to rob you of your duties.'  
  
-I didn't finish. I was going to say yes, but when I'm torn between two houses, I let the sort-ee choose. If someone wants to be in a particular house, I'll always sort them into it, even if I may disagree.-  
  
'It makes sense, I guess.'  
  
-Now tell me, what would your choice be?-  
  
'Ravenclaw.'  
  
-You're sure?-  
  
'Let's not play twenty questions.'  
  
"RAVENCLAW!" the hat finally shouted.  
  
There was an enormus applause in the crowd, and I smiled for a brief moment.  
  
With a sigh of relief, I leapt onto the ground, placed the Sorting Hat back on the stool, and quickly made my way over to the Ravenclaw table, where the others were waving me to. I took a seat beside a sixth year prefect named Alexander Poole, a nice fellow, who later on helped me to successfully find all of my classes the first few days.  
  
The Sorting Ceremony continued, with each first year being sorted into various houses. At one particular point, which a first year named Draco Malfoy was quickly sorted into Slytherin, there was a sudden uprising of chatter from the Ravenclaws. I could overhear bits of quiet conversation, depicting the Slytherins as rude gits who had nothing better to do than make others' lives miserable.  
  
And to think the Sorting Hat was torn between placing me in Slytherin.  
  
As the ceremony continued, more students were sorted into their houses; none of the sortings seemed to be of great importance, until the name, 'Potter, Harry!' was called aloud. The entire Great Hall, even with its light conversation over the ceremony, was silenced.  
  
Oh, I knew who Harry Potter was, back then; I'm a half-blood, after all-- my mum, a witch, heard all about the incident, and passed the news to the family at the time. I was told about it when I was old enough to understand it. There were few who didn't recognize Harry Potter's name, most of whom were muggle-born. Most of the Hogwarts students knew that same story. Harry Potter was famous, so of course, when his name was called out, it was only natural for there to be a moment of tense surprise.  
  
After a short while, the Sorting Hat had sorted Harry into the Gryffindor house-- as most people had been expecting, from my table, anyhow, and the Boy Who Lived made his way to the Gryffindor table.  
  
**********  
  
That was the moment of the Sorting.  
  
Barely any other first years were almost as noteworthy as the famous Harry Potter. I was not one of that elite group, it seems. Most of the other names that had been called out that day were quickly forgotten; including my damned name.  
  
Oh, yes, I did have a similar opinion about Harry Potter back in my first year, as I do now. Actually, I've learned to dislike him more and more as the years pass. Even with his heroic feats against Voldemort, even with his astonishing displays of bravery, even with all the good things people manage to say about the Boy Who Lived, I still don't think he's anything special. It all goes back to his mother. If it weren't for her death, he wouldn't be alive.  
  
And it seems that everyone else in his year is overshadowed by his great presence. The other names of the year, are simply forgotten, excluding a certain few of that elite gang.  
  
So, go on, ask the next person you see-- 'Who's Terry Boot?'  
  
Then ask that person, 'Who's Harry Potter?'  
  
And tell me, who have they heard of? Terry Boot? Or Harry Potter?  
  
My bets are on the latter.  
  
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[A/N: Did y'like it? ^-^ R&R, please!] 


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